


Temporary State

by AyokaiW



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angsty!Tracer, F/F, Grief/Mourning, It Gets Better, Sombra is a little shit, Strangulation, Tracer needs a hug, Tracer/Genji/Zenyatta bromance, Widowmaker is a Useless Lesbian, undefined relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-13 20:29:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10521258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AyokaiW/pseuds/AyokaiW
Summary: In this world, nothing is a guaranteed.Tracer knows that better than anyone when she was erased from existence. Still, losing Emily, that ray of light in her otherwise bleak life, leaves a hole in her heart that Tracer can't fill. So, she lets herself go, abandoning all sense and self-restraint.Widowmaker is asked by worried friends to watch over her, but even she cannot protect Tracer from herself.





	1. And it All Burns Down

Widowmaker was standing in the middle of the fire. It was hot and the heat made Widowmaker's catsuit cling to her more than usual. It did not bother her as much as she thought it would; her body could with stand high and low degrees of temperature. It certainly did not bother her companion.

Besides her was a much shorter woman standing clad in a brown bomber jacket and orange pants. It would have passed for casual wear if not for a hulking piece of machinery strapped to her chest. There were patches where bullets grazed the material of her outfit, but Widowmaker doubted the short girl even paid them any mind.

The assassin looked down at her own outfit, inspecting it for any tears. She thought, absently, if she could wear casual clothing during a killing spree. She would look good that was for certain. 

“P-please...help me…” a man reached an arm out to Widowmaker.

She looked towards the man on the ground. His lower half was pinned down by a steel beam, and he was reaching out with a bloody stump where his hand used to be. It was probably burning away somewhere in the fire.

Widowmaker refused to acknowledge him.

Instead, the dark, lifeless eyes of her companion looked at him, but Widowmaker was sure she was not quite seeing _him_. She probably only saw the black of his clothing, the badge on his shoulder and the broken helmet on his head with the menacing insignia of his employer.

_Talon._

Twin pistols were raised, and without a word, a spray of bullets entered into the man’s skull, killing him instantly.

“We're finished here,” she said briskly, turning to leave the building that was quickly becoming engulfed in fire.

Maybe setting the building on fire wasn't the wisest decisions, but she certainly didn't care now. It was the last Talon base located in England, the one Sombra gave up with no resistance. Now, every single member on site was either dead or dying. It was just like the other five sites she visited, but only this one she decided to burn to the ground.

Tracer let her twin pistols slip back into their holsters as she strode past Widowmaker. The taller woman looked at the destruction Tracer had left behind, and heard the dying cries begin to fade under the roar of flames. She sighed, looking up towards a burning ceiling, wondering if Overwatch knew about Tracer’s little Talon hunting activities.

The Englishwoman started her vendetta weeks ago, but Widowmaker doubted she remembered. There was a time Tracer only approached Widowmaker in some drunken stupor, begging for affection, only to forget what happened between them the next day.

At first the assassin thought it was a joke when Tracer came to her demanding the locations of Talon’s bases of operations in the UK. Tracer could destroy every single one and hunt down and kill any Talon agent in England, as far as Widowmaker cared, but only as long as she stayed away from the _other_ countries.

Widowmaker couldn't risk her cover being blown for that of petty vengeance.

Well, maybe it was not _petty,_ but it was all a matter of perspective really.

Talon would no doubt turn a blind eye to what happened, wanting little to do with throwaway bases. The head of Talon was going to shut them down by week’s end, according to Sombra. He was wise enough to give up on the UK for any political footing thanks to the Overwatch resurgence and even reached out to Tracer when the news of the incident reached his ears. He gave up the first three locations of agents whom had connections to the incident when Reaper whispered in his ear how much destruction Tracer would bear down on all of Talon, if she did not get what she wanted. He did so reluctantly, even with the threat. It was the only way he could wash his hands of the situation that was not his mess to clean in the first place and get rid of a financial burden at the same time.

The fourth and fifth bases Reaper gave away casually, but in ominous, cryptic messages and Sombra delivered the last on her honor, but really it was to save her own skin from Tracer's wrath being turned on her. Apparently Tracer did not appreciate being recorded during a precious moment of vulnerability.

As for Widowmaker...juggling a double agent life-style was as hard as it looked, but she went along to make sure Tracer did not get herself killed. It was a bit of a bonus watching the organization that turned her into a living weapon burn to the ground, even if it was a small, inconsequential part of it.

Widowmaker followed Tracer out the building, blocking the screams from within it as she left, “What will you do now?”

“Find the nearest pub,” Tracer responded dryly, “Join me?”

The taller woman rolled her eyes. Of course she wanted to drink.

Widowmaker was surprised Tracer turned up at this base sober. It was by some small miracle she managed to cause as much damage as she did. The last time Widowmaker saw Tracer, she was somewhere in Nepal drinking her sorrows away and acting like a spoiled brat after Widowmaker rejected her advances.

Tracer stopped walking and looked to Widowmaker when she had still not received an answer, “Come, luv, can’t keep a gal waiting all night.”

Widowmaker laughed a dry, hollow laugh, “ _Mon petit imbécile_ wishes to know why I won't join her for a drink?”

“I heard fighting words in there,” Tracer glowered at the Frenchwoman.

“I am in the middle of an important mission,” Widowmaker lied with ease, “ And I spent enough of my evening coddling you. I must leave.”

 _‘Coddling'_ that is what Widowmaker thought of her now. Just a baby that needed constant supervision because she was bound to do something incredibly stupid. 

Tracer noticed how tired Widowmaker looked and could not imagine what mission Talon had her on this time. Even if Widowmaker called it coddling, the assassin did not hesitate in joining Tracer on her endeavour. It seemed Zenyatta’s teachings failed to help Tracer grasp the concept of understanding. Widowmaker probably sacrificed a lot of time being with her to make sure she came out alive and here she was being an arse...again.

Why did if feel like she had not changed at all?

What would Emily say if she saw her now?

Tracer let out a ragged sigh, her shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world was bearing down on her. The tears came then, slow at first until they streamed down her cheeks in rivers. She tried wiping them away in a vain attempt to keep some of her dignity, but the tears were following freely now and there was nothing she could do to stop them.

Widowmaker placed a hand gently on the  other woman’s trembling shoulder and, in that instant, found herself in a tight hug. She did not pull back from it, did not push Tracer away either. Deep down she knew, no matter what Tracer was going through she was going to be there. 

Tracer wept openly against Widowmaker’s chest, clenching onto the older woman tightly, afraid to let go. She was shaking all over, the poor thing.  Widowmaker wrapped her arms around the brunette and held her closer. Even though Widowmaker had to return to her task, she wanted the shorter to be okay. 

Tracer did not want to go to a pub, despite desperately wanting to find comfort there. If anything Zenyatta told her rang true was that she was too strong a person fall into old habits even though she would want a tall drink after returning to her empty flat, alone. Sometimes the thought of alcohol made her sick to her stomach because all she had to do was remember all the pain she caused her friends and allies and how much she was disgracing Emily’s name.

“Did it feel good, letting it out?” Widowmaker asked, as she cupped Tracer’s face in her cold hands to make her look up at her.

She brushed a stray tear from her eye and gave Tracer an affectionate smile when the Englishwoman leaned into her hand and nodded somberly.

“Yeah. It’s all a little much, innit? Finally can put Emily to rest now that those bastards are all dead.”

It was a hollow victory because they both knew Talon still won. Tracer was still alone and nothing was going to fill that empty hole - not that she tried to fill it anyways.

“I will accompany you home if-”

“I can make it,” Tracer replied. She placed her hands over Widowmaker’s, “Thanks, for being here with me.”

"Very well," The assassin peeked Tracer on her forehead with a light kiss, “ _Adieu, ma chérie_.”

Tracer waved her good-bye as the building behind her finally collapsed into itself, sending the blaze higher into the night sky. She turned around sharply when a steel beam came crashing down behind her. Surveying the scene, Tracer chuckled to herself, but frowned when she heard the sound of a familiar jetpack came flying overhead.

Tonight was as good as any night for a very long walk home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got any idea what's going on?
> 
> No?
> 
> Good, because neither do I and I'm sure even I won't figure out what I'm doing with this story until chapter four.


	2. That Good Feeling

She took a slow, deep drink from her bottle. The liquid burned down her throat and set her insides on fire, but she continued to drink. When the bottle was empty, it was tossed carelessly aside and another was opened and guzzled down in seconds. She wanted to drown away the pain, make herself dull from emotions, but she could still feel them bubbling on the surface of her mind. By the time she was at her fifth bottle, the burning in her throat was gone and the drinks started to taste like water.  
  
Still, it was not enough.  
  
Nothing would be enough.  
  
The bottle, half empty, was smashed against the wall, glass and liquid exploded over her, but she did not care. She buried her face in her hands, tugged at her hair in defeat and released a cry so pained, dogs started to bark their replies from the alley below her window. There was just too much inside her that hurt and there was nothing she could do to ease the pain.  
  
There was nothing for her anymore.  
  
_I just want to die._  
  
Lena took in a deep, shaky breath and lifted her head up. It was cold, but not nearly cold enough, so that she couldn't feel.  
  
She remembered that Winston told her Emily was not worth all her pain and suffering. Lena almost wanted to punch her long life savior and friend for his blatant disregard of her feelings. What great loss did he experience for him to judge her how she decided to cope with Emily's death?  
  
He knew how Lena truly felt for the woman, but she doubted anyone truly understand in the long run. Emily pulled Lena up from her lowest point and kept her grounded far better than the Chronal Accelerator - which was resting on its stand, giving a low hum and glowing a dim blue. Lena stared at it blankly.  
  
How did you pay back a woman so selfless and kind? Lena couldn't give Emily anything back, especially after Overwatch fell to pieces, but somehow they fell into a peaceful state of bliss. Lena knew that Emily was her everything. She had never loved anyone so fiercely before, not one time could she recall ever being so head over heels for someone and feel it every single day.  
  
There were hard times (what relationship didn't have them?).  
  
The worst was when Lena returned from the botched Mondatta mission with a massive chip in her accelerator. Emily had shouted and screamed at Lena about being more careful and to stop trying to save everyone. That Lena did not have to risk life and limb and go chasing after assassins for a hopeless cause. Instead of letting sleeping dogs lie, Lena was too fired up to not shout back and shoved her foot so far in her mouth, she could have shat rubber for a week. By the end of the argument, Lena had a glowing, red handprint on her cheek and Emily went to bed angry as Hell with the loving, parting words of "get stuffed".  
  
Emily did not stay mad for long. It might have something to do with Lena bursting into tears in the middle of their flat out of frustration, out of the failure of protecting her icon, and knew she was a making an arse of herself. She would cry herself to sleep every night for the next few days because of that and Emily, sweet, forgiving Emily, held her, whispering encouraging words and promises of tomorrow being a better day.  
  
Now there was no one to hold Lena.  
  
Emily was gone and Lena sat in the remains of their flat, attempting to drink away her sorrow.  
  
Lena gave the accelerator a hard, scornful look. If she was only just a little bit faster - just a few seconds more - Emily would still be with her, besides her, holding her, kissing her, laughing with her, complaining about dishes, fighting over what to have for dinner, snuggling together in the cold of winter...  
  
_Alive_.  
  
"I...fuck I-I, fuckin' 'ate ye, ye worthless...arsehole," Lena ground out between her teeth.  
  
She reached for another bottle on the floor, but the neck slipped through her loose grip and she snarled at the bottle as if it had just insulted her mother. The accelerator made a high pitched hum and Lena flung herself up from her stretched out position on the couch.  
  
"That's it!" Lena shouted angrily.  
  
She was sick of the device laughing at her as if it had nothing to do with Emily's death.  
  
Lena barely managed to get to her feet, swaying this way and that, as she clumsily made her way to the little stand on the floor.  
  
The machine hummed steadily and Lena scowled deeply, eyes squinting to glare harder at the device.  
  
"Ahhhhh I seeez, yah think it's funny?" Lena challenged, "Ye 'avin' a laugh at ol' Trace, huh ish that it?"  
  
She almost lost her balance while kneeling to pick up the device, but kept herself on her feet. Snatching the Chronal Accelerator up, Lena made her way to the sliding door, glass crunching under her bare feet as she staggered through one of the broken doors. She grumbled to herself, threw insults at the machine in her hands a few times before she reached the railing. Something inside her was telling her that it wasn't really her fault, but she wasn't listening. There was a pounding in her ears that drowned out all other thoughts.  
  
The dogs long since stopped barking, leaving a maddening silence in the darkness of King's Row.  
  
Lena stood on the balcony of her flat; her hands clenched tight around the one thing keeping her grounded to existence. There was a tremendous ache in her chest. Something in the back of her mind, a distant voice, called out screaming for her to do something. It was muffled by the heavy thumping of her heart in her ears and took a step closer to the railing.  
  
Soon she wouldn't feel the ache or the hurt or the sorrow.  
  
She would be with Emily, she was sure, if she smashed the device - the foul bastard that made her exist while Emily did not - she would be. She lifted it above her head, snarling one final curse at it, and with all her might brought it down on the railing.  
  
Lena didn't even see her approach.  
  
Cold hands grasped her wrists tightly, preventing the Chronal Accelerator from meeting it's demise and Amélie pushed it back against Lena's chest.  
  
"As amusing as this has been, _chérie_ , you are being ridiculous."  
  
Lena stumbled back, surprised - afraid - and desperately tried to put distance between herself and the assassin, but Amélie followed her clumsy steps back into the flat.  
  
Amélie took her time in looking around the small, dirty apartment - her nose wrinkled in disgust. It was just as Talon left it, except the air was foul with a hard liquor stench and the sliding door leading to the balcony had been shattered outwards - there was one less coffee table in the room as well - it was probably still on the street below. Her eyes fell to Lena, who was standing in only her underwear and a tank top,  
  
"I knew you were a foolish child, but this..."  
  
With the grace of a cat, Amélie bends down and lifted a large shard of glass off the floor. It was from the bottle she saw Lena smash against the wall in her drunken state. Her golden eyes burn into Lena's own and the girl shrinks back.  
  
"This is pathetic." the words roll off her tongue in a tone so venomous Lena starts breaking down in tears.  
  
It was starting to become too much for Lena, seeing Amélie standing in her flat. The image of Emily's body lying on the floor, blood was everywhere and Amélie was there, looking mournful and guilty was caught in Lena’s mine. She is saying something, but there is a ringing that blocks it out and Lena starts to feel sick remembering. It was like a knife twisted in her heart and all the emotions she tried to bury came flooding out all at once.  
  
"Please," Lena begged with a choked sob.  
  
She didn't know why she was trying to plead with Amélie, but her heart could not take the overwhelming presence. When Amélie takes a step towards Lena the shorter girl instantly fled backwards. She cannot process the feelings passing rapidly through her mind. The walls are closing around her - Amélie is cornering her - and she just wants out.  
  
Amélie shoved Lena back with a force that knocked the other woman off balance and she slipped on her own bloodied feet. The assassin straddled Lena quick before she found her bearing.  
  
Lena's immediate reaction was kneeing Amélie in her stomach, but that only irritated the assassin more than anything. There was no strength behind Lena's attack and it was proven as Amélie easily blocked the next attempt and dove between Lena's legs and used her knee to pin Lena down. Her other leg was stretched out behind her to help push her weight into Lena's pelvic bone to keep the girl from trying another attack. There she stayed and waited for the younger woman to stop squirming. She didn't need to pin Lena's hands because they were turning white from how tightly Lena was clenching her accelerator. She was shaking, the poor thing.  
  
"You are such a little fool," Amélie said in a hushed voice, watching Lena struggle with herself, "Breathe."  
  
Lena shakes her head as the tears flowed down her face, "I-I-I can't. It hurts, please."  
  
" _Non_ , it only hurts, because you let it," Amélie said with a tone as cold as her skin.  
  
She traces her fingers along Lena's neck, trying to soothe the girl. She had witnessed enough of Lena wallowing in her self-pity and watching that stunt made it clear Lena was not okay, despite what Angela had claimed.  
  
It was almost sad.  
  
Lena stared up at Amélie with wide-eyes, flinching when she felt the fingers brush softly against her throat. She did not want to be _there_ anymore, but in Amélie's appearance, she saw a small hope. In the haze of her mind, Lena found a different way out, not cleaner, but better. She pushed the accelerator aside roughly, startling Amélie out her thoughts, and grabbed Amélie's hands. The Talon assassin jerked at the sudden touch; she paused when Lena placed those cold hands tighter against her throat.  
  
Amélie looked the woman in her eyes, noting how glazed over and lifeless they seemed, "What do you think you are doing, _chérie_?"  
  
"Make it stop," Lena whispered.  
  
Amélie was sure she heard the fragile remains of Lena's mind shattering in the distance. Sure, Amélie went to bed some nights dreaming of killing Lena, but those dreams stemmed from her conditioning. It was a long time since Amélie wanted to hurt Lena.  There was no murderous intent behind the blows Lena and her exchanged - not after they came to a mutual agreement and became common allies. Strangling Lena to death wasn't high on the top of the list when she thought of killing the woman anyways (Amélie preferred the thought of putting a bullet between her eyes).  
  
Despite the rational side of herself saying leave, it was the pitiful look and broken smile that made Amélie's hands close around Lena's throat. She told herself she would only hold on long enough for Lena to slip into unconsciousness - an unconscious Lena meant she wouldn't do anything stupid.  
  
The younger woman struggled, alarm bells going off in her head as it became increasingly harder to breathe. She bucked her hips to try to push Amélie away - a desperate attempt at self-preservation, but, instead, a jolt of pleasure went through her when she thrust herself against Amélie's leg, the one that had been keeping Lena from attacking her - the one she completely forgotten was between her own. The sensation of her clit rubbing against Amélie's leg was only amplified by the heavy fog in her brain from the alcohol, making her hyper aware of everything happening to her body.  
  
And it felt good.  
  
Her movements did not go unnoticed from the highly skilled assassin, who was now loosening her hold around Lena's throat. Amélie was taken aback by Lena's first attempt at bucking her off, but when the Overwatch agent started to grind herself against her leg, she knew she was crossing into dangerous waters. However, Lena wrapped her legs around Amélie's waist and her hands shot up to keep her from releasing her hold entirely and looked up at blue-skinned woman with an expression, so pleading and desperate, Amélie felt her slow beating heart skip a beat.  
  
"Don't stop," Lena whimpered, "Please."  
  
She needed this - whatever it was. In that moment of contact she knew she could be free of the emotional turmoil spiraling out of control inside her. She could forget, just for a moment, that Emily was gone, that life was meaningless, and no one, save Amélie and herself, existed.  
  
Amélie did not like being used. Not after she had escaped Talon's hold over her. She made it a point to only do anything for someone else, if she was in the mood or the situation benefited her in some way. Being used to get Lena off while strangling her was not in either category.  
  
Still, Amélie did not find herself moving off the shorter woman like any rational, sane individual would do after hearing a ridiculous request. She also did not know why she nodded her head and changed where she put pressure on Lena's throat before slowly building the force necessary enough to not kill the smaller woman, and help her find that much needed release. If you asked Amélie what she was thinking, letting Lena grind herself against her leg in such a shameless manner, she would not have an answer and she would not try to rationalize it either.  
  
The change in Lena was almost immediate. She thrust her hips up against Amélie's leg, grinding her center against the limb with a reckless abandon once Amélie found that sweet spot that caused the heavy fog to return and fill her head with cotton. The sensation was something Lena never experienced before, letting her pleasure be known through soft moans and broken words of approval.  
  
Amélie was, for lack of better words, in a daze. She could hear the rapid fluttering of Lena's heart, feel the veins in her neck twitch beneath her fingers, smell the arousal dripping off her, see her coming undone and she felt nothing, but guilt. She knew at some point she would have to release Lena and let the woman return to her self-pity and anguish, but she didn't. If anything, the grip she had on the Overwatch agent became a death vice and that was enough to push Lena where she wanted to be.  
  
Her entire body seized up, and, for forty-five sweet, beautiful seconds, Lena was in ecstasy as her orgasm crashed into her like a tsunami and from her lips came the hoarse cry 'Emily'.  
  
It was sad.  
  
Amélie released Lena when the latter's body suddenly went limp and, as courtesy , checked for a pulse. She cursed when she discovered Lena was still alive, but mostly at herself. She may have been overzealous with granting Lena that request, but, nonetheless, was relieved there was still a heart beating. Lena could have regained consciousness now that Amélie was no longer strangling her, but the alcohol would keep herself asleep. Mentally berating herself for letting herself be used in such an unseemly manner, Amélie climbed to her feet, albeit shakily and chose to ignore the wetness between her own legs and the spot on her left shin where Lena eagerly was grinding herself upon.  
  
It was not a secret to Lena that Amélie harbored a small, emotional affection for the Brit. They had a conversation about it once, in front of Emily, but there wasn't a snowball's chance in Hell she was going to tell anyone else about it.  
  
The assassin waited a moment - three minutes to be exact - and checked Lena's pulse again _just_ to make sure. Satisfied that the girl really was just asleep, Amélie collected the Chronal Accelerator and placed it back on it's charger. She gathered Lena in her arms and carried her swiftly to her bedroom. She tucked Lena in and sat herself at the working desk on the other side of the room, trying to decide where to go from there.  
  
Pictures of Lena and Emily littered the top of the desk and Amélie found herself idly looking through them. Emily was a beautiful girl and it was unfortunate what happened to her. She looked back to Lena, who moaned in her sleep and rolled onto her side. That little idiot couldn't be left alone for certain, especially after Amélie stopped her from making a huge mistake - she wouldn't disclose that information to Angela either, despite what the Swiss doctor had asked of her.  
  
" _I'll pay whatever you want_!" the doctor's voice rang in Amélie's thoughts, " _Make sure she doesn't do anything stupid. You have to let me know, if something is wrong_."  
  
Lena was not okay, not in the slightest and her friends leaving her to her own devices was just as reckless as Lena attempting to smash her accelerator to pieces. Even worse they trusted _her_ , of all people, to ensure Lena's safety. For weeks, Amélie watched over Lena like a watchful hawk. She saw everything: from Lena punching a hole in her wall, to throwing the coffee table off the balcony. In the end, she reported all she could to Angela.

But how was she supposed to explain to anyone what happened moments ago?

The simplest answer is: she wouldn't.

To anyone.

Ever.

Lena wouldn't remember, as she was too drunk, leaving Amélie the only one who would have the memory.

Sighing, Amélie picked up the photos and returned them to the drawer. Tomorrow would come all too soon and Amélie wasn't sure if she wanted to face it. She turned back to Lena, who rolled over in her sleep and clenched onto a pillow.

_Doux rêves, ta fille insensée._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...in my defense...I did tag appropriately.
> 
> I think...
> 
> Might be another two weeks before I update again. Gotta get outta Silver before comp ends this season...if I don't throw my PS4 out the goddamn window first.
> 
> The struggle is fucking real.
> 
> *Feel free to point out any mistakes. This went un-beta'd*


	3. So What Happened

Light woke Lena up from her deep slumber. It shined directly on her face and it amplified the pain in her head by ten-fold. Feeling miserable and hungry, the young woman sat up in her bed, only to fall back onto her pillow from lack of strength. The world was spinning around her, everything hurt, and she was sure she was going to throw up.  
  
"Ah bollocks," Lena croaked out.  
  
Her throat was sore and it tasted like she stuffed cotton balls in her mouth during the night. Maybe she did. She was beyond wasted last night and could have done a number of stupid things, but trying to remember what happened gave her an even bigger headache.  
  
Gods, why did everything have to hurt?  
  
"Goddammit," Lena cursed. She forced her body to get out of bed, steeling herself for the inevitable wave of nausea to hit. The bottoms of her feet were tender, and made walking feel as if she was tap dancing on glass. Looking down, Lena saw white bandages wrapped around her feet. How and why her feet were bandaged up was another matter entirely.  
  
"Musta been a wild night." was the only conclusion she could come up with.  
  
Slowly, Lena exited her room, trying very hard not to let the fact she could not see straight bother her. Entering the living room, she was shocked by how neat and clean it was. The bottles she had worked her way through over the last few days were gone and there was a black curtain draped over the patio doors to cover up the missing doors. Someone had removed them broken ones and cleaned the glass, but didn't replace them.

Just another problem to deal with. Her head hurt too much to think about it.  
  
She went to the kitchen to make a brew of tea. There Lena spotted her phone; it was on the small, round table: thirty-two missed calls from Angela, eleven from Winston, five from McCree, two from Mei, and one from an unknown caller with sixteen voice messages. She snatched the thin metal from the tabletop and, flipping it open, erasing the messages and call log. Lena tossed her phone in the cabinet where the tea containers were and shut the door harder than she should have.  
  
No one needed to hear from her today, just like yesterday and the day before.  
  
When Lena went to the stove, she was a bit stunned to find the kettle already on, steam steadily rising from the spout. She was sure she was too far on the piss to be doing anything as coordinated as making tea the night before and Emily surely wasn't back from the dead. The only logical conclusion was that Angela must have come by. Probably saw Lena face down in a pool of her own drool, assumed she drank herself to sleep and thought a spot of tea would perk her back up.  
  
Lena hadn't seen Angela in a few days, and wondered how she got in. Did she leave the front door unlocked? Well, it wasn't as if anyone paid her a visit over the week. With a sigh, Lena reached over the sink and opened a cabinet to reveal two, unopened bottles of bourbon whiskey.

A thin smile spread on her face, “A good addition to an afternoon tea.”  
  
"Don’t you think you had enough?”  
  
Lena yelped in surprise and the bottle flew from her hands at the sudden response to her. Blue-tinted hands caught the bottle mid-air, then it was placed on the countertop with practiced grace. Lena felt a flood of rage wash over her when her eyes settled on Amélie standing mere inches from her. She was about to do a very unBritish-like thing and start throwing objects at her, but then she remembered that Amélie was no longer an enemy and that she wasn't in any danger. That did not stop her heart from pounding in her chest as Amélie loomed over her - wearing far more than Lena usually saw her in. The Talon assassin was not wearing her visor or her cat suit, opting for an ill-fitting dress shirt and slacks that Lena distinctly recalled being in her closet. Deep in her closet in a box Lena sworn she stuffed Emily's belongings in.  
  
"Take those off," Lena demanded.  
  
Amélie studied Lena's short stature, noting how the other woman's fists balled tight and her whole body was trembling - probably to contain the mounting anger and grief. She knew she shouldn't have worn the clothes in the first place, knowing whom they belonged to and why they were back there. She was there the day Lena drank half a bottle of scotch and rage-cried at the articles of clothing in her closet, and then watched her tear her closet apart to rid herself of the items. Realizing she was making a mistake in her drunken haze, Lena spent an entire night crying into a sweater, begging whichever deity that was listening to bring Emily back.  
  
Amélie had shed a tear, maybe, at the scene.  
  
Now, however, she was irritated from the night before and any other time she considered the request. Instead, Amélie brushed her ponytail over her shoulder defiantly.  
  
"Make me," came the challenge.  
  
Lena spine straightened and the muscles in her jaw twitched. She took one step forward, ready to rip the clothes right off of the assassin, but the older woman's hands shot out and circled around Lena's throat in an instant.  An odd, pleasant sensation shot up Lena's spine when Amélie flexed her fingers.  
  
"Get yourself under control," Amélie said, giving a light squeeze in warning, "Otherwise you need not beg me to kill you this time."  
  
Lena blushed. She tried really hard searching her brain for any cause to why the hands around her throat was almost comforting. It only made her head hurt more. Feeling Lena relax, Amélie let her go and started to pull mugs out the cabinet. She tossed Lena her phone over her shoulder before closing the doors and began putting together the tea. The Brit fumbled with the device and secured it in her hands with a puzzled glare.  
  
"Call your doctor," Amélie ordered, "Now."  
  
Lena bristled at the commanding tone. If it was another time - and Lena was not in the mists of battling a head splitting headache - she would have did as Amélie asked. Instead, she stuck her foot in her mouth and replied back in as mockingly as possible (with a bad French accent on top of it):  
  
"Make me."  
  
Amélie counted backwards from ten in her head in French. She contemplated smashing the mug in her hand against Lena's face and, for an instant, her hand gripped the mug. She could do it and give the doctor a reason to come over without feeling like a worry wart, but then she also did not want to give Lena a concussion. The girl already looked pained from the four or five bottles she drank. She couldn't possibly imagine what sort of pain she would be in, if Amélie attacked her.  
  
Lena scoffed, taking Amélie's silent contemplation as defeat, "Thought so."  
  
With no warning, Amélie spin on her heels and hurled the mug at Lena's face with a strength so inhuman, it shattered on impact as if it hit a wall. Had it not been for the heavy drinking the night before, Lena could have dodged the mug easily. Instead, Lena, with her eyes rolling in the back of her head, slipped into unconsciousness. Amélie flinched when the side of the Overwatch agent's head smacked against the edge of the table before her body hit the floor.  
  
Now she had to make the call.  
  
" _Merde,_ " Amélie groaned, looked Heavenwards, and prayed for patience she did not have. 

* * *

Hushed, but harsh, whispers stirred Lena from her involuntary nap. Even though she was starting to wake up, she kept herself still and strained her ears to listen.  
  
"I didn't think it was this bad."  
  
A scoff.  
  
"Would you believe the number of bottles I found here?"  
  
"Probably-"  
  
"Seventy-two."  
  
"You counted?"  
  
"I cleaned."  
  
There was a deafening silence.  
  
"Did you have to break her nose?"  
  
"She was being difficult."  
  
Oh. So, that's what that pain on her face was.  
  
"And hit her head?"  
  
"She fell on the table."

And that explained that dull hammering in her skull.  
  
"And her feet?"  
  
"She was walking on glass."  
  
"Widowmaker-"  
  
"Please do not start. You know I am doing this favor because I am bored. "  
  
A resigning sigh was heard.  
  
“Have you at least asked her, if she is alright?"  
  
"I will ask her now."  
  
Lena felt a cool presence come beside her and tensed without realizing it.  
  
"I know you are awake," Amélie hissed, "Answer the good doctor, would you? She is annoying me."  
  
Lena groaned and pried her eyes open, instantly regretting it as the sun hit her directly in the face.  
  
"You threw a mug at me."  
  
"You were not listening, much like you are now," Amélie retorted.  
  
Angela was at Lena's side in an instant and pressed a hand to her forehead, "How are you feeling, Lena?"  
  
The younger woman’s face scrunched up in pain, "Like I got hit with a mug."  
  
Amélie rolled her eyes and removed herself from the room to allow Angela and Lena their moment.  
  
"Why is she even here?" Lena growled from under her breath.  
  
_Oh, that’s right_ … Angela thought. Lena had no idea why the ex-Talon agent was roaming around her flat.  
  
In her mind, Amélie may have been innocent of any wrongdoing involving Emily’s death, but that didn't mean Lena wanted the assassin anywhere in her apartment - or near her for that matter. It probably brought up painful memories.  
  
"You didn't answer your phone this week," Angela said, pointedly ignoring the question, "You promised you would answer it at least once to let us know you were still alive."  
  
Lena sat up and pulled aside the cover Angela had placed over her, "Don' be daft, love. It's only been four days-"  
  
Amélie gave a sharp, bark of laughter from the kitchen, which Lena ignored, keeping her focus on Angela to prevent herself from getting angry. However, the sullen look Angela gave her was troubling.

“Four days since you called?” Angela asked very carefully.

Lena shook her head, “From the funeral. I don't call for four days and you think it's the end of the world. My girlfriend _died._ Remember? I’m entitled to be alone.”

Amélie made a sound from the kitchen that resembled a groan, but Lena heard something else. Maybe pity?  
  
"Lena," Angela began, placing a hand on the younger woman's shoulder, "How long has Emily been dead?"  
  
Lena stared back at Angela worriedly. _That_ was never a good question not to someone with Lena’s condition. There was a reason why every room in Lena's flat had a clock and a calendar - each date that passed had an X in the white box - and Lena had marked the calendars, albeit the last week had one or two days crossed. Lena wrung her hands together, nervously. She looked at the calendar, just to be sure again. Angela studied the way Lena's eyes became unfocused and she reached out to give her shoulder a light squeeze to bring her back.  
  
"How long, Lena?" Angela pressed.  
  
The doctor could clearly see the anxiety growing in Lena.

Lena swallowed thickly, "It's only been four days-"  
  
"Lena, it has been a month." Angela corrected her as soothingly as possible. She covered her face in defeat, shaking her head disapprovingly, "You said you would be okay." 

A month? Lena's eyes widened. Emily's funeral was days ago, it had to be. It was. Grant it, Lena spent the last few days drunk as an Irishman, but she was sure the funeral wasn't even...

Lena shook her head in disbelief, leaving the thought to hang in the air. It could not have been a month already. It was all so fresh in her mind. Seeing Emily just laying there on the floor. The blood running down the walls. Amélie was holding her. She could still feel the sad, sympathetic eyes of her Overwatch family burning the back of her head. The coffin they put Emily in was beautiful. She even remembered the smell of the dirt they used to fill Emily's grave with like it was only yesterday. 

The most important part was, Lena remembered clearly telling Angela a few days ago, asking if she could take some time before returning to Overwatch activities. She remembered calling Winston and Angela a few times, too, to let them know she was alive. At least, she thought she did. 

A month...  
  
Lena was staring at her hands, but then she turned her head swiftly to find her accelerator. What if it was malfunctioning? That would explain the gaps in her memories, why she couldn't remember any conversations she had with Angela or Winston during her period of voluntary isolation. Lena tensed up and scrambled off the couch towards the bright, blue light. Angela stumbled backwards away from Lena as the woman practically crawled to her Chronal Accelerator and put two and two together. She watched Lena take hold of the device and check it over, turning it every which way with wild eyes, looking for something that wasn't there.  
  
"Lena, you're not disappearing.” Angela insisted and followed after her.  
  
"How can you be sure?!" Lena shouted back, "I-I can't...I won't go back. Angela, please-"  
  
Amélie appeared in the doorway, holding a mug of steaming coffee in her hands. She seemed very unamused and bored, but her eyes held a different emotion, one Lena missed completely, "You are so dependent of it, yet you wanted to part with it so quickly last night. Make up your mind."  
  
Lena shot Amélie a glare as sharp as glass, "Will you sod off already? Nobody wants you here!"  
  
Angela gave Amélie a look that clearly said they would speak about that later before addressing Lena, "You left a voice message or two for me a few days after" she paused to choose her next words carefully, "After...the funeral. You were crying, a lot and, you kept asking me where Emily was. You hung up after saying nobody cared.”

Lena tilted her head to the side in puzzlement, “I don't remember any of that.”  
  
"Of course you wouldn't. I tried calling you a dozen times and you did not answer. With Null Sector reemerging and Talon trying to overthrow world leaders, we couldn't spare a moment.” Angela blushed in shame, eyes cast downwards, “So, I….um, reached out to Widowmaker to check on you from time to time to make sure you were okay. There was nothing in her reports of you disappearing, just using your accelerator to prolong your intoxication."  
  
"Made a right arse of myself, didn't I?" Lena said, her voice low and full of regret, "I'm such a mess..."  
  
"And foolish," Amélie replied, "Had I not been doing what the doctor begged of me, you would have disappeared."  
  
It was the Swiss doctor’s turn to shoot Amélie a glare. Instead of asking further questions, Angela turned her attention back to Lena. She patted Lena's back comfortingly, "It's okay, Lena, we understand-"  
  
"No, none of you do."  
  
Lena was crying now. Tears streamed down her cheeks in a steady flow. She clenched the accelerator closer to her body and gave it a squeeze. She didn't realize how close she was to not existing, but _that_ revelation did not scare her. It was the fact that if she got just as plastered as last night, she would surely try again and that was the part that bothered her. Maybe Amélie wouldn't be there to stop her.  
  
Angela looked towards Amélie, who seemed uncomfortable watching Lena cry softly into her accelerator, "I know it hurts, Lena, but you can't stay cooped up in here and be drunk all day. You have so many friends worried about you."

“I don't know what I’m gonna do, Angela,” Lena wiped her tears away  
  
"You can start by taking a shower," Amélie  said, “You smell revolting.”  
  
Lena knotted her eyebrows and took a second to sniff herself. She gagged. The point was taken. She smelled like week-old sweat and bourbon. Gross. And when was the last time she brushed her teeth? It took one look on Angela’s face to know: probably not in a while. Lena suddenly felt like she needed to take a long, hot shower and peel her skin off. She probably hadn't showered the last few days - she spent most of those days drowning her heart in liquor, and she felt sick thinking about it. Wiping her eyes with her shirt, Lena climbed to her feet with Angela's help, wincing at the pain on the bottom of her foot.  
  
"Did I really step on glass?" Lena asked, unsure if she had heard that part of Amélie and Angela's conversation correctly.  
  
Amélie nodded, "Seems you are a bit masochist."

There was a knowing glint in Amélie’s eyes and it made Lena feel uncomfortable.  
  
Lena blushed, "Piss off."  
  
The taller woman shrugged and was about to disappear back into the kitchen without another word. Angela glowered at Lena and the Englishwoman saw the look that said "apologize because you’re being an ass’.  
  
"Wait!" Lena called out.  
  
Amélie eyed Lena with a leveled glare, "Oui?"  
  
Lena said rubbing the back of her head sheepishly, "Look, you gone and saved my life and I've been a right git to you since I woke up. I'm sorry."  
  
Angela smiled widely, watching little bits of Lena come out with the awkward apology. It had been weeks since she even seen emotion on the younger girl's face. It was a good sign at the very least.  
  
"Do not apologize," Amélie said. _Not to someone like me, ma belle._

“Well, thanks, for being here for me,” Lena said. _When no one else was._  
  
Satisfied that both parties were not going to maul each other in the living room, Angela climbed to her feet and beckoned Lena to do the same.  
  
"Come, let's get you cleaned up. We need to stop at the store for Winston," She smiled that smile Lena knew all too well, "By the way I'm taking you to Winston. He has a few choice words for your recent abuse of your accelerator."  
  
Lena groaned - Amélie chuckled at her dismay -.  
  
Winston was never going to let her hear the end of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was sitting in my Docs for WEEKS already completed and I just forgot it existed (can't remember why...I think I just hated how it turned put).
> 
> Good news is I'm halfway done with chapter four. Bad news is I will ultimately scrap the entire chapter, rewrite the damn thing forty times and still hate it thus leaving it to rot among the 10 or so one-shots I have unfinished on my Drive for a month before returning to it with renewed vigor. 
> 
> So yeah anyways...thanks to everyone who left a Kudos/comment/bookmarked. I appreciate all of them!


	4. Talks That Should Have Happened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild update appears! There's a bit of a long A/N at the end. Feel free to ignore that.

Turned out, Winston did not have words for Lena at all. No, he felt rather comfortable glaring at her from behind his glasses when she walked into his lab later that day. The former Overwatch agent could feel the disappointment in his eyes cut into her soul, but swallowed what shame she felt and approached him regardless.  
  
“Hiya, Winston,” Lena greeted, but the great ape turned his entire body from Lena and, at that moment, she knew how badly she fucked up.  
  
Angela walked in behind Lena, carrying the bags from the grocery store, “Winston.”  
  
“Angela,” the scientist replied curtly.  
  
Angela gave Lena an encouraging nudge forward, “Winston, we already talked about this.”

He gave a short, irritated grunt in return.  
  
They had settled that the _best_ thing for Lena was to not push her further away, despite how far away she was pushing them. The poor girl was in a stage of grief and, having buried many of her friends in the past, Angela was no longer going to let Lena suffer through the loss alone. Sure, Lena may have ignored all her calls and believed the outside world didn’t exist, but she was _trying_ now and that was all that counted.

Winston was angry with Lena, but even he did not hate her as much as he was letting on. The doctor was sure he was starting to feel bad for giving her the cold shoulder by the way he fumbled with the pencil in his hand and how he kept stealing nervous glances at Lena.  
  
"I will set this here," Angela put the bags of peanut butter on the table next to Winston's arm, "And I am going to get back to work. When I come back, you two better have talked."  
  
She left the pair in a silence so thick Lena thought she was going to choke. She didn't want Angela to leave her alone with Winston, not with the big fella mad at her. She would rather face the wrath of Jack, knowing the aged man would simply yell at her and call her a few names. With Winston it hurt a lot more just getting the silent treatment. It only made Lena want to hide back in her apartment and polish off that bottle of scotch she had stashed in the cabinet.  
  
Finally, Winston peeled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with his massive hand before putting them back on. He gave a heaving sigh before he spoke, “Tracer, I cannot begin to describe how disappointed I am in you.”  
  
Lena lowered her head and stared at her shoes. It was like she was back in primary school being reprimanded by her father for failing a class.  
  
“But I also can’t possibly imagine what you are going through.”  
  
He had witnessed it himself how madly the two women were in love with each other. Emily had become a small hope for Lena after the Slipstream incident. Lena thought she was never going to be happy ever again. She thought no one would ever want to be with a broken human being whose existence was temperamental at best. Part of Winston even wanted to believe that Emily would help curb some of Lena's quirky habits. She didn't, but it was heartwarming to know she tried. Lena just had that energy that pulled people into the craziness with her, and Emily didn't stand a chance against the Englishwoman's charming smile. Winston wondered where that Lena was now. His guess was she was stuck under all that misery.  
  
"Sorry," Lena muttered out, unsure if she should look her best mate in the eyes.

"Tracer, I'm not angry at you, believe me I wish I was," Winston sighed, "You're putting yourself in danger when you use your accelerator for things like staying drunk longer. I’m concerned, that’s all.” He turned his head to look at her, “Now, Angela texted me saying you wanted me to check on it?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"Hand it here," Winston said, gesturing to the Chronal Accelerator, "Athena."  
  
" _Yes Winston_ ?"  
  
"Bring up schematic A.C.L.O., please."

“ _Certainly_.”

A holoscreen displaying the blueprints to the accelerator appeared in front of Winston while Lena went to work on undoing the various buckles on the harness to pop the device off. She handed it to her friend and waited awkwardly for him to verify if anything was wrong with it.

He hummed to himself, turning the device over in his hands, “Have you been using this as a frisbee?”

Lena couldn't help but smile, “Not since the last time you chewed me out for that.”

He grunted in response, “It needs a new casing, but overall no significant damage.”

She heard his choice of words and fear gripped her heart in a vice, “What kind of damage did you find?”

Winston had to study the device with a keener eye, so he stripped away the outer layer and internal casing to reveal a tangle of wires and circuits.

“Just needs a good defragging and a bit of dusting, should take about thirty minutes at most,” Winston promised, “Athena, please activate program Delta in bays one through ten.”

“ _Understood. Chronal disassociation suspension field is in standby. Running safety protocol measures...testing Program Delta’s parameters…...Test complete…..Overriding protocols 12 through 42…..Override complete. Program Delta is now in full effect. Overwatch agent Tracer confirmed to be grounded to the present. It is safe to disarm Chronal Accelerator Winston_ **.”**

“Thank you, Athena,” Winston removed the power source of Lena’s accelerator and the light flickered for a few precious seconds before going out completely.

Lena was speechless for a few seconds unsure if she should feel utterly terrified Winston just turned off her anchor or feel proud and elated he installed a full base suspension field for her. He had done configurations on the device while it was active, but it wasn’t like she could walk out of its effective range to start with. She was bound to wherever the accelerator was. It seemed pretty pointless. Why go through all the trouble?

“There.” Winston announced proudly, “You're free to move about the base now that the field is up.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“You gonna spy on me?” Lena asked, crossing her arms angrily across her chest.

Winston looked up from his work, giving her a puzzled look, “I do not know what you mean.”

Lena felt the muscles in her jaw tighten, “It’s not like I was going to go anywhere if you kept it on!”

Winston released a half-hearted chuckled, “Tracer, please, I need to tinker in here a bit,” he gestured to the accelerator that now lay in pieces on his desk, “You don’t like standing still for more than a few minutes, so I figured you’d like to walk around the base, get some fresh air.”

Lena did not accept that. She _couldn't_ accept it. Not after the conversation she had with Angela mere hours ago.

“You just want to make sure I don't run anywhere you can't see me,” Lena snapped.

 "Tracer-”

 “Don't even try to deny it!” Lena seemed to get angrier at Winston with each word.

So he didn't.

“You could just as easily lose some part and never have it back online! That’d mean I’d be stuck on the base where you can keep eye on me!” Lena accused. She felt her face flush with anger, “Is that why Angela wanted me to come by so badly?”

If Angela dragged her there to lock her up, Lena was going to kick her arse from one side of the base to the other. What kind of friend tricked someone like that?

There was some truth in what she said, but the suspension field was not a tool to keep Lena locked in, but in case something happened on the base. The heart of it was Winston _did_ want Lena to venture about, and figured not restricting the field to one area was a smarter way of revealing his latest project. He couldn't blame her for her accusation. He did need to keep an eye on her because the base did have several stocked bars for agents that stopped by for a visit.

Winston tried again patiently, “This isn't a prison and I would never do anything to harm your only tie to this plain of existence. I am merely running a diagnostic and changing the battery. Nothing more, I promise.”

Lena snorted in disbelief, “The promises you make aren’t worth much these days.”

The sharpness in her tone made him glower at her for only a bit, but she knew her words hurt him. She could see it in the way he sagged his shoulders, as if all the problems of the world were his to bear.

Lena shoved her hands in the pocket of her jacket and begrudgingly looked at the door. She could walk around and find Angela, tell her how amazing their little talk was.  _God, I need a drink._

“Emily wouldn't like seeing you like this,” Winston said, “We don’t like seeing you like this. You put up this wall a mile high and we can't breach it. Every day we are calling your phone, sending you texts, wondering if you’re okay and get no answer. You’re angry, I can feel it over here, but you're angry at the wrong people. We’re trying to be there for you, Tracer, but you're making it difficult.”

The mention of Emily’s name made Lena’s frown turn into a deep scowl, “You weren’t there for Emily, so I guess we can call this even, yeah?”

“Tracer!” Winston snapped, his patience finally running out, “That is hardly fair! You do not get to act the victim when you shut everyone out and hide away ignoring us! How much have you been drinking these last few weeks? Enough to drown a small child, I’m sure. We’re worried-”

“Shut up!” Lena shouted back, “What I do with my free time is none of your goddamn business alright. Just fix the bloody thing so I go back to ignoring you sorry lot!”

While she was sure he had choice words for her then, Lena still marched out Winston’s workshop. She tried very hard to ignore the fact she heard Winston tell Athena to keep an eye on her, and found her way to the nearest bar. She made sure to be in full view of Athena’s eyes as she reached over the bar counter for a bottle and a tumbler glass.

“ _Agent Tracer. Angela informed me you have yet to eat since leaving your home. I have been monitoring your vitals when you stepped onto the base. I advise you not-”_

“Why can't anyone just mind their own business?” Lena threw back and twisted the bottle open with renewed vigor and poured a healthy amount into the glass. She brought the glass to her lips and gulped down the burning liquid like water, ignoring the sting on her tongue and the heat in the back of her throat.

 “ _Tracer, you are showing signs of a severe dehydration and your vitals are telling me you have not eaten properly in weeks.”_ A holo-screen appeared in front of Lena then, showing numbers and graphs that only hurt her head the longer she looked at it. _“Dr. Zeigler told me how much alcohol you had over the week._ ” A few lines attached to Lena’s liver, head, stomach and heart. There were angry red bar graphs next to each one, _“Consuming more within such a short span will cause severe side effects_.” Athena warned.

Lena scoffed, “You gonna stop me?” She drank until the glass was empty and poured another.

“ _No, but Winston will_.”

 “Then run off and go tell him bad, ol’ Tracer is being naughty with his liquor supply!” Lena snapped at the AI, “I could use a moment’s peace!”

 When the AI failed to reply, Lena let out a soft sigh and poured herself a shot instead of half a glass. The amount she was pouring for Athena was all for show, a front, a damn lie. Her stomach made a gurgle of protest when she lifted the glass to her lips, probably to warn her _not_ to be stupid. Just like everything else - from reason to Athena - she ignored it and drank anyways. If she was going to be stuck waiting for Winston to finish his maintenance work, she sure as shit was not waiting sober. Being sober meant she had to deal with...everything.

 A month.

 A whole goddamned month and _Widowmaker_ of all people was the only one babysitting her. Obviously _someone_ other than the assassin had come over, because Lena always had a stocked fridge, so she never went hungry (not that she ate, the thought of food made her queasy).

 I _wish someone had cared that much about Emily._

 A painful ache in her heart that was all too familiar returned. Grasping the bottle by the neck, Lena took a slow, but deep drink from it. Nobody cared enough about Emily to make sure she was safe. Lena bugged Winston, and Jack, the one time, to give Emily a temporary bodyguard when she was alone. Being a famous Overwatch agent and infamous vigilante meant she had enemies, especially ones with means to uncover her civilian life. Winston did not have the bodies to spare for her request, but promised with a smile that she would be safe regardless, and Jack’s only advice was to dump her.

 The only person who cared enough was Widow-... _Amélie_. A brainwashed assassin trying to turn over a new leaf by acting as an independent double agent for Overwatch. It was admirable, really, but in the end even she couldn't save her.

 "Lena! What on Earth are you doing?!” Angela shrilled from behind her.

 Lena looked over her shoulder and waved the bottle casually in the air, “Having a wee drink to start my day right. Join me?”

 Angela rubbed her face tiredly, “We talked about this-”

 “Did we?” Lena shrugged, “I recall you saying some words, mostly just about it being a month since Emily died.”

 “Is that what _this_ ,” Angela gestured to the bottle, “is all about? Lena, did you even talk to Winston?”

 “About what exactly?” The angry tone Lena took on shocked Angela more than anything. Lena paused to take a swing then nearly smashed the bottle by how hard she put it down. The harsh and heavy _thump_ caused the medic to flinch, but she did not say anything, “Why should you even give a rat’s hairy arse anyways? No one could spare me a single night out of their supposedly busy lives to check on Emily for me, while I was halfway across bloody world doing whatever it was you wanted me to do!”

 Angela looked genuinely disheartened by the way Lena was acting, "Lena, you have a prob-”

 "No, I don’t!” Lena bellowed angirly, startling the doctor, “I just spent the best part of my years with the most caring, loving woman of my life and she's gone and no one, but me seems to give a damn!” Lena shoved the bottle away from her hard, like it insulted her and she wanted it to be away from her as far as possible, “I don't know why I even bothered coming here.”

“That’s not fair, Lena,” Angela let out a breath of frustration.

Lena scoffed, “Winston said that. Doesn't make it any better.”

Angela’s lips tightened into a thin frown, unsure where to even proceed with the conversation. Lena was already drunk, she could see it in the way the other woman was moving and hear the slur in her speech. Why couldn't Winston just _talk_ like she asked him to do? Now there was no delicate way to go about this Angela knew, so she took a deep, internal breath and let it out.

“We all spent countless nights worrying over you and I pleaded with you to stay here, with your family, but you didn't even want that. You went straight home and drank till you were unconscious.” Angela realized she was starting to sound angry, but continued anyways. She needed Lena to hear what she had to say, “I couldn't even come over because the one time I did, you threw a bottle at me and yelled on about how _we_ killed Emily! You had us all worried Lena, to the point I sold my soul to Widowmaker, of all people, to keep tabs on you. Do you have any idea how that feels? Going to your enemy and begging them to help you? Let me tell you something, Lena.”

The last line was spat out with loathing

“She was not persuaded easily.”

Angela remembered the day she asked Hana to find Sombra and then spent a week playing games with the hacker. Contacting Widowmaker did raise suspicious eyebrows from Winston and Jack, but neither protested. When the three followed Lena into her flat and saw the carnage, and Widowmaker standing over Emily’s body, looking as if someone skinned her cat and nailed the corpse to her front door, they dared not start a fight with her. It was that moment of vulnerability that lead Angela to seek out Widowmaker in the first place.

Lena frowned. Widowmaker was already coming to and from her apartment long before Lena let out she was switching sides. Why did Widowmaker make it so difficult for Angela? Maybe she liked watching the medic beg. Maybe she was getting a sick pleasure from all of this.

Maybe she-

“ _She_ worked for Talon and yet found the time to check on her!” Lena snapped back angrily, “What was your excuse again? ‘Sorry, Lena, girls’ night out’, wassnit?”

Angela could not stop the roll of her eyes. She counter to ten in Swiss before answering, “Do you know Genji climbs through your balcony in the dead of night to deliver food? Or that Mccree cleaned up your apartment? Trob is designing and building a panic room. Do you know how many city ordinances he had to go through to even get permission to knock out an entire wall of your flat? We screwed up by not being there for you then, but we’re trying to be for you now.”

“Funny. We wouldn't even be sitting here havin’ this conversation, if any of you showed that much concern about Emily.”

Angela slapped her. The red imprint was already spreading across Lena’s cheek when Winston came crashing through the doors, Lena’s accelerator cradled in his hands.

 “What is going on here?” Winston bellowed angrily.

 He had nearly botched the defragment in his haste to find Lena, and almost forgot to put the casing back on the accelerator...and turn it back on before running. Winson had barely barged in when Angela slapped Lena across the face, but before he could do anything, Lena turned her head back to look directly into Angela’s eye. The medic felt a stab in her heart when the anger in Lena’s eyes melted away.  Her eyes shone with the threat of tears and remorse.

 “Why?” Lena asked meekly, almost afraid of the answer she was looking for, “Why couldn't you just care enough?”

 With a long suffering sigh, Angela reached out to put her hand on Lena’s shoulder, “We should set up an appointment with a counselor, Lena. It’d be for-”

The agent’s face suddenly scrunched up, “I’m sorry,” was the last thing the brunette managed out before she threw up over the counter.

Angela never retreated faster than that moment and Winston grabbed the back of her jacket to keep her from falling face first into the puddle.

 “ _I told her not to drink anymore.”_ Athena said.

 “That will be all, Athena,” He slung Lena over her shoulder and carried her to the sick bay with Angela following in tow.

"She has a problem,” Angela said, “A night in the detox chamber should make her right as rain by tomorrow morning, but if she does not get professional help soon-”

Winston cut her off, “Angela?”

“Yes?”

“Do you ever think that maybe, we are a bit to blame for this?” Winston asked, “That we could have done something more?”

“Hindsight is 20/20.”

Their walk remained silent. Once they entered the sick bay, Angela’s home when she was on the base, the great ape placed Lena down gently. He stretched her out on the bench in the small chamber before closing the door and allowing Angela to work her miracles.

“We should drag her to the support sessions when she wakes up,” Angela offered, “I can have one of our counselors give her private sessions, but this can not continue.”

“No, she will only resent us more,” Winston said, “Lena is a strong woman, she'll see how foolish she is being without our help.”

“You don't sound too confident.”

Winston chuckled half-heartedly. He knew Lene better than most, but even he wasn't sure what to do, “There is much work to do. Athena, please quarantine the area, so none of the new blood disturb her.”

“ _Sick bay 3 is now under level 5 quarantine. Winston, Cadet Neil wishes to speak with you. He is in your office.”_

“Thank you, Athena.”

“ _Shall I monitor Agent Tracer and report to you when she is awake?”_

“No, but let Angela know when she is leaving,” Winston requested, “She'll be contacting Widowmaker.”

Angela made an annoyed sound from the back of her throat. She really did hate dealing with that woman.

* * *

It was a day before Lena woke up. Sitting up slowly, Lena had to take a moment to remember where she was and how she got there. She was on a soft bed in one of the many rooms Winston had made for agents who frequented the base. It took another minute or two for her to recall coming by to see Winston per Angela’s request and she remembered drinking. It wasn't even that much, but she got sick.

Lena stretched her sore muscles and got out of the bed. A set of clothes were folded neatly on a table next to her, which made Lena look down at her state of dress. She was wearing a hospital gown. Her accelerator was propped up on a charger in the corner, glowing a bright blue and humming merrily to itself. Lena stripped out the gown and dressed with the provided clothing. She strapped on her anchor, and, without saying hello or good-bye to a single soul as she exited the base, got on the nearest aircraft to go home.

That was her intentions anyways: go home and get some food in her, watch a bit of telly and call back Mccree, invite him over for a game of cards, if he wasn't busy. She had a book she needed to finish, a door to replace. There was the matter of going through the rest of Emily’s belongings.

But she didn't do any of those things.

Instead, when she arrived in London, she took the long walk to The Pit - a very quiet pub a few blocks from home - and sat at the bar. She ordered a tall, stiff one, Jack and Coke, because she needed the sugar, and gulped it down faster than she could blink.

Afterwards, she thanked the barkeep and ordered another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blech, I dislike writing these, but I have to apologize for the silence on this story. I had a bit of...writer's meltdown a few months back and deleted everything I worked on for this story in a fit of depression. These come frequently unfortunately. Still trying to find the mood to write again to be honest and I've already written and rewritten this chapter a dozen times and kept thinking to myself: "this chapter isn't going to get any better no matter what I do, fuck it, what's the bloody point? But I gotta update this eventually". 
> 
> The sad part is this is a story I want to finish and it will be regardless of how I feel about it in the end. It just took about a year to figure out what I wanted to do with this pile of crap. I have 3-4 chapters outlined now. You will be dealing with my inconsistent ass all the while sadly. Again, I'm sorry.
> 
> This'll be the last and only apology A/N in advance for any long delays.
> 
> Also, I do read comments. I appreciate them. Really. It warms my heart knowing people actually took the time to read my story. I'm just too much of a chicken shit to actually reply back to any of them. I'll be better about that too.


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